Close Your Eyes
by lilliparadox
Summary: Feliciano was born into a life of privilege, but those of privilege must pay the price for their opportunities. Taught to read, he is forced into a political war not his own and has no other choice but to accomplish his task: Overthrow the House of Beilschmidt.


The house stank. It reeked of the smoke from the multitude of fires. The odor of rotten food lingered on the breath of the frightened who huddled around the roaring fireplace. The smell of sweat was on their faces, the smell of dung in the dirtied hay.

Across the room, there was a very different type of stink.

The rank smell of blood festered around a woman, laid supine upon the ground.

She inhaled.

She exhaled.

She breathed no more.

The buzzing of flies became the only sound in the house as they circled her body like buzzards.

The midwife sighed, lifting the long-since-cold cloth from the dead woman's head. Wordlessly, she gathered her supplies and sauntered outside into the night, slamming the door behind her.

The sound of the door, loud and sudden, dispelled the heavy atmosphere in the room.

A baby cried, experiencing the first rude awakening in his life.

The inhabitants of the room slowly regained their wits. The baby was passed from the arms of the father to those of a daughter, who did all in her power to calm him down.

Warily, the father made his way over to the other side of the one-room house, reverently scooping up the mother's body in his arms. An inaudible prayer was said as he pushed the door open. Into the night he too stepped out, but his steps were silent as he could manage.

He slipped into the night.

"Will Mamma be okay?" the baby's brother asked, prodding his sister fearfully. "Where is Babbo going with her?"

"Stop poking me!" she hissed. "I just barely got Feliciano to sleep!"

"Where's Mamma going?"

His sister didn't respond for some time. How could she possibly tell him about something she barely understood herself?

"Mamma's going to heaven, Roma."

"Is Babbo going too?"

"No. He's not. He's coming back, don't worry," she answered curtly. Hopefully it was right to assume that.

"Chiara?"

"Yes?"

"What's heaven like?"

"I don't know, Roma. No one does, except the priests. And, y'know, God and Jesus."

"When you're a priest, will you tell me what heaven's like?"

Chiara giggled a little at the 5-year-old's naivete. "I'm going to be a _nun_ , not a priest. Besides, with _your_ attitude, I don't think it's going to matter much if you know what heaven's like!"

"Hey!"

"Oh come on, Romano, there's no way you actually know what I'm talking about. You're too _stuuuupid_." Chiara jeered.

"Chiara I'll tell Babbo!" Romano retorted angrily, and perhaps a little too loudly.

Chiara sighed in exasperation, and shot Romano a look so dirty he had the good presence of mind to shut up. She turned her attention back to the matter at hand: the screaming newborn mass of flesh known as her baby brother.

The girl stood up and paced around the perimeter of the room, bouncing him up and down as she held him close. The screaming faded into crying, which eventually stopped altogether. Chiara hummed a lullaby, and as the night wore on, the infant's brown eyes blinked closed.

"There," Chiara said, not above a breath. "He's asleep. Hey Roma, you want to hold him?"

Romano didn't respond. The little boy was already fast asleep, his thumb habitually in his mouth.

Chiara sighed, slumping down beside him, Feliciano in her arms. She leaned against the earthen wall, letting the heaviness of the day finally wash over her. In exhaustion, she finally allowed herself a moment's rest.

The night continued to march on.

Hours passed.

Their father slipped back into the house, unnoticed as he arrived.

Bending over his sleeping children, he scooped up the newborn in Chiara's arms, slumping down against a wall. From his pocket he withdrew a sheet, and wrapped his son in it, better shielding him from the cold night. He kissed his forehead, exhaling slowly in exhaustion.

"Oh, Feliciano..." he whispered, though no one could hear. "If only your mother could be holding you now, instead of me." He chuckled humorlessly. "Is bad luck, the father holding the bambino first."

He sighed, the room feeling a little emptier as he murmured those words. Deciding not to suffer under the burden of the quiet, he scraped the loose straw strewn about the ground into a heap. Deeming his work suitable for the baby, he laid him down atop the straw.

Feliciano's eyes blinked open, taking in the first glimpse at his father. An infant hand extended towards him, fingers little, weak, and curled. His father accepted it, allowing the newborn to squeeze his finger. He smiled, a tear sliding unbidden down his wide nose.

He cleared his throat, flushing down his sorrow. He began to hum, his unpracticed voice scaling the melody unskillfully.

Stroking Feliciano's hand with unclasped one, he began to sing a lullaby:

 _Fa' la ninna_

 _Fa' la nanna_

 _Nelle braccia_

 _Della mamma-_

He faltered, the weight of the night returning to his voice. He looked back down at his son, and removed his hand, wiping a tear from his face.

Feliciano stared back at him, appearing to blink in confusion. "Why did you stop?" he seemed to ask. There was no way of knowing. He was still just a baby, after all.

"More bad luck, Feliciano," his father said sadly, "I am no mother." He sighed. "Although, for now, I suppose... I will have to do. Is not too bad to sing just one lullaby, no?"

He laid down beside Feliciano's makeshift mattress. Feliciano yawned, slipping his thumb between his toothless lips, sucking on it protectively. His father picked up the tune where it dropped off, singing quieter than before, but more controlled.

 _Fa' la ninna_

 _Fa' la nanna_

 _Nelle braccia_

 _Della mamma_

 _Fa' la ninna bel bambin_

 _Fa' la nanna bambin bel_

 _Fa' la ninna_

 _Fa' la nanna_

Feliciano's eyes closed again, his thumb still in his mouth. His father smiled sidelong at him, closing his own eyes. A familiar feeling of love sparked in his chest as he laid awake in thought.

His Adelaide, the love of his life, may be gone. But so many homes cried curses; so many wept over the loss of family members. So many were completely and utterly alone, abandoned by all they loved as they suffered in solitude.

So many had died, and yet, still they could survive.

He was surrounded by his four children, in his own house, and with another son to his name.

Adelaide would not wish to be mourned. It wasn't like her to wish to be pitied, for something as silly as her death.

They could overcome this. He would _not_ give into madness as so many had in his youth. He would not. Not when there was so much worse that could happen.

He exhaled, letting sleep wash over him.

There was much to do in the morn.

 _5 Years Later_

The bells of Milan's cathedral rang in the early morning, a high cacophony from the heavens proclaiming the entrance of the day.

The village stirred slowly in the early morning. Some woke before others, and loudly the cocks began to crow, experienced amateurs screeching the sopranos' notes.

Neither of these caused Feliciano's brother to stir, not slightly. He lay facedown on his cot, wrapped in his blanket from head to toe. Feliciano scooted out from underneath his own covers, grabbed his brother's shoulder, and attempted to rouse him from his slumber with all the power a toddler could wield.

"Roma! _Roooooma!_ " he called.

Romano yielded no response-whether by stubbornness or sheer will-he remained rooted atop his cot.

"Roma! Roma! Fratello! Rooooma! Wake _up_ , you promised!"

Romano looked up groggily, rubbing his eyes. Seeing Feliciano on his back, he rolled over and again tried to stimulate sleep.

"Roma, I'll tell Babbo!" the toddler warned, pummeling his brother's back with his little fists.

"Piss off, Feli."

"That's rude, Romano," came the response from their father from across the room, apparently just waking up himself.

"Babbo!" Feliciano squealed happily, his mission to pester his brother forgotten. He stumbled over to his father's side, sliding under his blanket to give him a hug.

" _Babbo_ can Roma and I go to the well?" Feliciano asked.

He shook his head. "Feli, Romano is going into the fields today, and you need to stay here and help your sisters."

Romano, suddenly forgetting to be asleep, shot up off his cot in indignation. "Aw, Babbo, why do _I_ have to go?!"

"Romano, you're of age now, and it's time for you to start to learn how to work. No, I'm not taking any excuses. Go pack a lunch; you're going."

"Then why doesn't Feliciano go too?" Romano complained, angrily wrapping a piece of cloth around a loaf of bread.

"Romano, your brother is five. He would get completely trampled by the oxen. Don't be selfish."

"And what makes you think _I'm_ not gonna get run over by the oxen and get chopped into pieces by the plow, huh?"

"Roma, just shut up and go," came Fiore's voice, woken up by the exchange. "You're ten. You don't _get_ to be rebellious yet."

"Oh, and because you're thirteen you're so much better than me?"

"Romano, I swear-"

"That's enough, you guys," Chiara warned, throwing off her covers and slipping on her shoes. "Romano has to leave and doesn't have time to deal with your complaints. Isn't that _right_ , Roma?"

Their father sat up, glaring at her. "Chiara, you're not helping."

Ignoring her father, she continued, "Trust me, Roma, going against Attilio isn't going to help anybody, and it most definitely isn't going to help _yourself_ , so I'd shut it if I were you!"

Romano snorted. "Good thing you're not me then, or else I'd have to subject myself to a willing censorship and no one wants that, _especially me_."

"Ooh, he knows big words!" Fiore butted in, rolling her eyes. "You know, you're not special. You can't even read."

"Neither can you!"

Fiore angrily opened her mouth to respond-

"Yeah," Chiara added. "I bet you just heard that from Attilio in his sleep!"

"Chiara, will you _stop_ referring to me by my given name?" their father interrupted. "Romano, don't you even start. It's disrespectful to me and I won't stand for it!"

"You'll get called what you _deserve_ to get called, _Attilio!_ " Fiore snapped.

"Fiore!"

"She's right, you know," Chiara snarled. "You need to stop treating your daughters like _bargaining chips_ and more like _actual human beings_ , Attilio."

"Can we move on? Romano and I need to get going, and soon."

"Wow, can we not, actually?"

"Shut up Romano."

"Girls, _enough!_ Romano, at this point, I don't _care_ if you're dressed and I _don't care_ if you're ready, it's _time to go!_ "

"No. I'm not going."

"Don't make me force you, Romano. Know your place."

Chiara turned her head, hearing a new noise in the room. Feliciano had begun to whimper underneath his father's blanket. The four-way argument tapered off, listening to the toddler blubber.

" _B-Babbo_ …" he wailed, sniffling. "D-Don't yell at them…!"

He flopped off the cot onto Fiore's lap, wailing face-down into it.

His family members looked at each other. Fiore stroked his auburn hair, trying to console the child.

"Shh-Feli-what's wrong? It's okay, it's okay…"

Chiara side-eyed Attilio, sending him matching rude looks and gestures before kneeling beside her sister.

"Don't make Roma go...I can go instead...I _want_ to go instead-Let me go, Babbo!"

Romano raised his eyebrows, looking at his father hopefully.

Attilio shook his head, sitting down beside the girls. He pointed down at his son and mouthed, "May I?" Chiara nodded briskly, scooting over.

"Hey, buddy…" he crooned, wrapping his arms around the five-year-old.

"Babbo, can I please go?" Feliciano mumbled into his shoulder.

"No, little one," Attilio chided, planting a kiss on his forehead and brushing his fringe behind his ears. "No. Romano needs to learn how to do _real work._ Besides, he is old enough, and big enough. He is just being stubborn about his first day."

"I am _not_ being stubborn, you b- uh…"

"Romano."

The boy fell silent, blushing furiously as he stared down at his shuffling feet.

"But why can't I go with you, Babbo?"

Attilio sighed, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. "Feliciano, you must listen to me. You need to stay home, with your sisters."

"Why?"

"Because I say so, Feli. Trust me, they will keep you busy, no?"

"Yes, Babbo."

"Alright then. Feli, go put the chickens out, and listen to your sisters, okay?"

"Yes, Babbo, I will," the boy nodded, submissively.

Attilio kissed his son's head again, and set him down on his feet.

"Romano, it is time to go. If we leave any later, Marco will have my head!" Grabbing Romano by the collar, he tugged him backwards towards the door.

Romano yelped in surprise, nearly tossing away his lunch. "Fine! Fine! I'm going!"

"Until your butt is out the door, I am not believing you."

Throwing on his shawl, Romano stomped out the door, slamming it behind him.

"Happy?!" he shouted, from outside.

Attilio looked sardonically at the closed door before kissing his remaining son goodbye.

"Goodbye, Feli. Be a good little boy, okay?"

"Yes Babbo."

His father patted him on the shoulder, grabbed his own shawl, and wrapped it around his neck.

"Chiara, Fiore, I'm going to be late, but when I get home," he said, narrowing his eyes. "We're going to have a talk about your... _attitude_ this morning."

Attilio looked back at his son, and smiled. "We'll be home soon, my boy! Be good!"

He left, closing the door behind him. Romano could be heard vocalizing indignation as he was heaved to his feet. Their footsteps faded away from the cottage.

Fiore looked at her older sister, raising her eyebrows. She smiled, picking herself up.

"Feli, go put the chickens out like Babbo said," Chiara commanded, patting him on the shoulder. "We can play later."

"Chiara, I'm _booored!_ " Feliciano whined, tugging on her skirt.

She looked down from her stitching. "Feli, I need to work on this. Your new tunic won't sew itself, you know."

"I don't need a new tunic!" he complained, raising his arms. His oversized sleeves flapped about as his flailed them, and his foot snagged on the train. He yelped, falling over and collapsing on the floor.

Chiara raised her eyebrows. "Oh, really? What makes you think that?"

"I like this one!"

"Feli, that's _my_ tunic! And then it was Fiore's, and Roma's. Point is, you'll outgrow it soon enough."

"But I don't need a big tunic!"

"Then what _do_ you need, Feli?" Chiara asked offhandedly as she extended her needle, letting it pull out her thread.

"I want you play with me!"

"Jeez, kid, can't you ask Fiore about this?"

He sat back down on the straw covered floor, shaking his head stubbornly.

"I'm not going to get much further on this, am I?

Feliciano bobbed his head up and down, smiling cheekily. Chiara groaned, setting the mess of fabric aside. Exhaling sharply, she sat down beside her brother.

"So what should we do, huh Feli?"

"Letters!"

"Letters…?"

"You know, the ones you and Fiore are always practicing!"

"When have you seen us 'practicing letters'?"

"When Babbo's out, and when you think Roma and I are asleep."

"Feli, that's not exactly a _game,_ you know...They're very hard to learn-"

"Don't worry! I can learn them too; I'll help you!"

"But what if Attilio finds out?"

"He won't, he won't! You can trust me, Chiara. I can keep a secret."

His sister sighed, running a hand through her long, brown hair. There just wasn't any weaselling out of it, wasn't there? She extended her hand towards Feli in resignation, pinky extended.

"Promise?"

Feliciano stared at it, before hesitantly copying her gesture. his own pinky linked with Chiara's and he looked her in the eye.

"Promise," he eagerly repeated.

"The it's settled. You and Fiore _both_ will learn your letters from me, and under no circumstances are Roma and Attilio to find out, _capisci_?"

" _Sì, capisco,_ Chiara. I promised, remember?"

"Just checking," she said playfully, patting his head. She scooped up her stitching and sat back down at her workspace. "Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"Wait, what about the letters?"

"Once your chores are done, Feli. And by that, I mean _all_ your chores."

"But-"

"No buts. Reading or not, we still have a lot of work to get done, and if you want a part of this, you'll need to pull your weight."

Feliciano's shoulders slumped, his lip protruding in a pout.

Chiara chuckled, sticking her needle through the fabric and pulling it back. "Don't be like that! You heard me. Make sure the garden's raked and weeded, the cots and blankets get beat, the chickens fed and put away, and come back to help prepare dinner. Then, and only then, do we have a deal," she commanded, shooing him away. "I expect to see you back here soon, all right?"

He nodded, running out of the house and into the yard, his boredom quite forgotten.

Turning her attention back to her stitching, Chiara re-threaded her needle and began to work back up the seam.

Over and under.

Over and under.

Re-thread.

The rhythm continued over and over as she lost track of time, the different parts of the tunic slowly taking shape. Occasionally she tried it on, warily avoiding the pins.

Hours fled before her needle, and before she knew it, it was almost past noon. She lifted up her work, clear progress made, slightly giddy with accomplishment. She whistled, admiring it.

Damn! She may not claim to enjoy sewing, but she'd be lying if she said that it wasn't relaxing. She set her work back down, going to refill her needle, but inspection quickly revealed the spool empty.

Chiara cursed, shoving her needle into its pincushion. Fiore poked her head inside the house, a bucket of freshly skimmed milk in either hand.

"You okay in there?"

"Yeah, I just-ran out of thread, is all. Looks like I need to go into town soon."

"Ah."

"Hey, there's something I need to tell you, about our reading sessions."

Fiore's breath caught in her throat as she set the milk down on the table. "What happened?"

"Feli apparently knows, maybe has for a while."

"How did he find out?"

"No idea," she admitted, folding her arms around herself, trying to quell the uneasy feeling in her stomach. It stayed. "I think he may have followed us outside?"

Fiore disconcertedly looked over her shoulder, her hands on her hips. "This could be _very_ bad news," she murmured.

Chiara nodded in agreement, turning the unfinished tunic in her hands.

She knew Feli was smart. He really was, in a way he'd never been able to properly articulate. Could she help him articulate it? God only knew if Attilio would let her do that, corrupt his favorite son.

Chiara swallowed nervously, smoothing her skirt in resolution. "I have to honor my promise to him," she said, her mouth falteringly shaping the syllables. "I promised, Fiore. I promised."

* * *

 **A/N: The first half of this story is a reupload, but I made the executive decision to keep it because I felt it added to the story, lol**

 **Anyway, I'm excited to get this story underway! It's been really fun to write, especially designing my takes on Feli's sisters (the nyotalia Italies) and of course, little Feli himself! Let me know what you think of them!**

 **Feel free to leave a review on your way out!**


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